


sometimes you gotta bleed to know

by firefall



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Football | Soccer, Future Fic, Injury, Literally Nick and Harry Are So Dumb, M/M, Making Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4804688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefall/pseuds/firefall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Pixie’s hands are small and gentle when she reaches over to fiddle with Nick’s bracelets, her eyes soft.  “What happened there, Grim?  He was around all the time and now he’s just…not.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>And that’s the thing, isn’t it.  Harry’s not around anymore.  He packed up and left and now Nick’s expected to play football against him for charity.</i>
</p><p>idk man, Nick and Harry are just really bad at this Being Adults thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sometimes you gotta bleed to know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laurathecrab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurathecrab/gifts).



> This is for laurathecrab's prompt on the 1dexchangeforall. I tweaked it a little to make it less angsty because I'm the person that I am, but I hope you like it!
> 
> Warnings for: Minor injury and non-graphic descriptions of blood and just a bit of swearing.
> 
> I'm just going to admit right now that I don't know much about football/soccer, so I'm very sorry if some of the terminology is wrong. I researched as best I could, so hopefully there's nothing glaringly wrong. Feel free to let me know if I screwed something up soccer-wise.
> 
> Many thanks to the mods for putting this exchange together and working so hard to make sure that every receives a fic. You're the best! :)
> 
> Title is from "Tear In My Heart" by twenty one pilots because 1) that is such a Gryles song and 2) stupid blood pun. Heh.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own or know anyone in this fic and am making no judgments/assumptions about their characters or personalities. Honestly, there's no way Nick and Harry are this dumb in real life.

Nick would like to think he has a good poker face.  He wouldn’t actually know because he’s never played the game, but he’d still like to think it.  Unfortunately, however, he can feel his face going very obviously pale as he looks over the final line-up for the charity match, so maybe not.

 

“What’s wrong, babe?” Pixie asks from across the table, her water glass raised halfway to her mouth and her brow crinkled in worry.  Nick appreciates the concern, he _does_ , but he kind of wants to shush her because it means…

 

“Oh no!  What’s happened now?”  And Nick groans, hiding his horrible face in his hands, as Daisy breaks away from her conversation with Aimee to start clucking at him.  Normally Nick loves attention, but ever since Pix found him red-eyed in his bed last month, they’ve been remarkably over the top, even for them.  Sometimes it just gets to be too much, especially when they try to get him to talk about his _feelings_.  What’s done is done and he never wants to think about it again.

 

“Ah…nothing,” Nick lies, casually poking at the ice in his glass with his straw.  “Tomlinson’s playing, apparently.”  It’s a stupid thing to say, but he’d rather have his friends think he’s scared of Harry’s absolute monster of a bandmate than have them know that he’s shitting himself at the thought of being within fifty meters of a guy he used to call his…something.

 

Quick as lightning, Aimee snatches the line-up sheet out of his hands.  Nick makes a sound of protest and practically lunges across the table to get it back, but it’s too late.  “Harry’s also playing,” she observes matter-of-factly, raising one eyebrow at him in a silent question.  Nick slumps back down in his seat and keeps his mouth shut tight.  They’re not getting anything out of him – not today or ever.  He just wants all this to be over.

 

Once Pixie and Daisy have had their fill of looking over Aimee’s shoulder and shooting Nick sympathetic glances that make him want to die, Daisy asks carefully, “It’ll be nice to see him, right?  It’s been awhile.”

 

It’s been five weeks but Nick doesn’t say that.  Instead he just takes a deep, calming breath and forces the scowl off his face.  “Of course,” he lies, ignoring the way his palms sweat at the mere thought of it.  “Who doesn’t fancy running into Harry Styles?”

 

He’d been hoping to break the tension, but his friends are too damn _nice_ and _supportive_ to let that happen.  Pixie’s hands are small and gentle when she reaches over to fiddle with Nick’s bracelets, her eyes soft.  “What happened there, Grim?  He was around all the time and now he’s just…not.”

 

And that’s the thing, isn’t it.  Harry’s _not_ around anymore.  He packed up and left and now Nick’s expected to play _football_ against him for charity.

 

It’s enough to make Nick’s throat close up and for one panicked moment he isn’t sure whether he’s going to cry or have an asthma attack.  It turns out to be the former and he claps a hand over his face, mortified.  He can’t have a breakdown in the middle of a public restaurant…he just _can’t_.  “I’m sorry, I just—” He chokes off in the middle of his sentence, already gathering his jacket and his wallet.  “…I need to get out of here.”

 

Avoiding his friends’ eyes, he drops a couple bills onto the table and almost trips over his own feet trying to flee the restaurant.  He barely notices the lone pap that crowds into his space, trying to get a few good snaps.  Nick’s way too focused on getting home to his bed and his Pig to worry about it.

 

If he ends up on the front cover of the Daily Mail, he’ll deal with it in the morning.

 

_-_-_-_

 

There are two things Nick is world-class at: watching TV and not thinking about Harry Styles.  The rest of the night is spent doing both, planted on the couch with slippers on his feet and Pig in his lap.  Somewhere around ten o’clock he begins his nightly debate on whether it’s worth it to walk all the way to bed or if he should just sleep on the couch, inevitable backaches be damned.

 

His eyes make his decision for him, drooping impossibly lower and lower until his hand slows against Pig’s head and he drifts off in a sitting position.  He sleeps hard for what feels like only ten seconds before he jolts awake, his phone vibrating loudly on the coffee table.  Heart beating wildly, Nick scrambles for it and ends up sprawled across the floor with a faceful of carpet and a stinging knee to match.  Swearing under his breath, he picks up, trying to think through the sleepy fog around his brain.  “What’s wrong with you?” he demands to whoever’s interrupted his sleep.  “What do you want?”

 

“Okay, I probably deserve that.”  It’s Aimee’s voice on the other end.  Figures.  “Both for the late hour and for making you cry in a public place.”

 

Nick can feel his face going red.  For one blessed minute he’d forgotten about Harry, but now it all comes rushing back like someone’s poured ice down his shirt.  He collapses back against the carpet, glaring up at the ceiling.  “Yeah, thanks for that,” he deadpans.  “You’re a true friend.”

 

Aimee sighs deeply and the line is silent for a few long seconds before she says, “I really am sorry, though.  We didn’t mean to pry…we’re just worried about you.  I’ve never seen you like this.”  Her voice is so soft and gentle that Nick almost has to double-check his caller ID to see if it’s really Aimee.  “I just need to know that you’re okay.”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Nick tells her and it’s mostly true.  He’s sad and lonely and, as much as he tries to pretend otherwise, he misses Harry terribly, but he’s fine.  It’s all fine.

 

“Well, if you ever wanna talk about it, you know how much I love a bit of popstar gossip,” she jokes and Nick can’t keep the smile off his face.  He loves her so much.  “Hang in there, kid.  I don’t know what happened between you two but I doubt it’s going to last forever.”

 

Maybe it’s the tiniest bit of hope that wells up in Nick’s belly or maybe it’s the fact that it’s the middle of the fucking night, but all of a sudden Nick wants to tell her.  He wants to tell her and he wants to feel better and he wants her to convince him that not everything is broken.  His breath hitches at the thought and before he can talk himself out of it, he blurts, “He was living here.”

 

There’s a quiet laugh down the phone and even though it’s not the reaction he expected, Nick can’t find it in himself to be offended.  Nick and Harry had never been very good at the subtlety thing. 

 

Aimee seems to agree.  “Well, yeah.  I assumed there was probably more to the story, though.”

 

Taking a deep, calming breath, Nick forces himself to continue, his voice tired and shaky.  “He hadn’t officially moved in or anything, but he was here almost every night and it was just…really nice?”  He says it like a question because here, five weeks later, there’s not much that feels nice anymore.  Mostly he just feels kind of sick.  “Or, at least, _I_ thought it was nice.  He apparently didn’t think much about it at all, because when he had to leave for tour he gave that stupid speech about _not holding each other back_ and moved all his stuff out.”

 

It’s the first time he’s ever said it out loud and it sends a pang of white-hot _hurt_ shooting through his body.  Tears spring to his eyes and he wishes he could blame them solely on his exhaustion.  He awkwardly scrubs at his face, glad that Aimee can’t see him.

 

His friend makes a sympathetic sound in the back of her throat.  “But you wanted to be his boyfriend,” she says with the certainty that comes from being one of Nick’s oldest and closest friends.  “You wanted to be his boyfriend and then he up and left.”

 

That’s enough to send a few pesky tears skittering down his cheeks and he groans in annoyance.  “Yeah,” he moans, turning over to smash his nose into the floor.  “Fuck you.”

 

Sensing his distress, Pig – his good and faithful Pig – settles down next to him on the floor and rests her head on his back.  It only serves to make him more emotional, letting out the tiniest sad sound that he hopes gets lost in the phone static.  He’s trying to hide his sorrow from Aimee as much as possible.

 

All the same, she sounds incredibly sad when she says, “Oh babe…did you ever mention that to him?”

 

Nick’s too far gone to try and pretend to be anything other than the relationship failure he is.  “No!” he wails, making Pig nuzzle in closer, desperate to comfort him.  “No, I never did and now it’s too late.”

 

“But maybe it’s not!”

 

This is the part Nick had been waiting for – the part where Aimee tells him that it can be salvaged – but in that moment he remains unconvinced.  He sighs, his whole body aching.  “It’d be stupid to try now,” he says a little bitterly.  The words taste vaguely of tears and carpet.  “He’s made his choice and I’ve just gotta live with it.”

 

Admitting it feels awful, but it also feels like closure.  Sick to death of crying and feeling small and his friends tip-toeing around him, Nick exhales heavily and begs off before Aimee can respond.  “Thanks for putting up with me,” he says, only half joking, as he finally pulls himself to a sitting position.  He probably has carpet lines permanently etched into his face.  “And thanks for checking in.  I really am fine, though…I don’t want you to worry about me.”

 

“You know I can’t promise that,” Aimee tells him and Nick can hear the fondness in her voice.  It makes him feel a tiny bit better.

 

“Well, then you’re just gonna have to do it where I can’t see you.”

 

“Deal.”

 

They exchange quick _I love you_ ’s before they ring off and then Nick is once again alone in his quiet house with nothing but his Pig and his thoughts for company.  Deciding that one of those is infinitely better than the other, Nick grabs his dog and finally slogs off to bed.  Every last drop of energy is gone, sapped by tears and breakdowns and pretty boys with too much hair that leave when you want them to stay.

 

But that’s enough of that.

 

Once in bed, Nick pulls Pig close to his chest and buries his face in her neck.  “We’re okay, Pig dog,” he says, more to convince himself than anything else.  “We don’t need him.”

 

She just snuffles in response.

 

_-_-_-_

 

But three weeks later Harry is right _there_ and Nick’s never needed him more in his entire life.  His hands are trembling as he struggles to do up the laces on his cleats, trying valiantly not to look over at Harry where he’s perched on the edge of the bench in the locker room.  It’s easier said than done and by the time Nick’s managed to tie both his shoes together, Harry has noticed him staring.

 

Looking young and lovely and ready to hit the field, Harry casually makes his way toward Nick, causing all the air to catch in Nick’s lungs.  He can barely breathe.

 

“I don’t think you did that right,” Harry tells him, breaking into a dimply smile and pointing down at where Nick is about to trip himself.  “The left laces are supposed to stay on the left shoe.”

 

It’s one of the dumbest conversations Nick’s ever had in his adult life, but his stomach still flutters.  It doesn’t matter that it’s been two months – with Harry standing before him, smiling and fiddling with the braid tying his hair back, Nick’s heart seems be under the mistaken impression that Nick’s still interested or something.

 

“Ah…yes,” Nick stutters out, studying his shoes like he’s never seen them before.  He can barely get his clumsy fingers to undo them again.  “I know how to tie my shoes.”

 

Harry just giggles and it makes Nick want to dissolve into the floor or run away or just die because _Harry isn’t even sad_.  He’s acting like nothing has changed, like Nick’s entire world didn’t get turned upside down when he left without a warning.  It’s a little bit infuriating.

 

It’s infuriating, yes, but mostly it just makes Nick’s heart hurt.

 

“So how have you been?” he ventures because he’s probably a masochist.  If Harry feels absolutely nothing, Nick would like to hear it from the source. 

 

Harry shrugs, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.  Nick tries not to stare.  “It’s been fine,” he says, sinking down onto the bench next to Nick.  “It’s been nice to tour again after a couple years off.  I really missed it.”

 

 _I miss_ you _!_ Nick wants to say, but for once in his life he holds his tongue.  It proves to be a truly inspired decision, because at that moment the monster himself emerges, dressed in blue from head-to-toe.

 

“It’s time to warm up, Harry,” Louis says darkly, not even bothering to hide his distaste as he looks at Nick.  Nick is thirty-five and a whole head taller than him, but beneath Louis’ gaze Nick feels like a terrified child.  He slouches over, shrinking into himself and willing himself to disappear.  It doesn’t work and when he looks up again, Louis is still glaring.

 

Harry gives Nick a sheepish smile, oblivious to his bandmate’s disgust.  “I’ve gotta go,” he apologizes, reaching out to put his hand on Nick’s shoulder and freezing at the last second.  He pulls it back like he’s been burned and Nick just barely holds back a wince.  “But we should totally catch up later!  It’s been a long time.”

 

For two people that used to live together, a week would be “a long time”…two months is bordering on criminal.  But Nick lets him go, his heart seizing up as he watches Harry walk away, just like he did before.  It feels kind of like losing him all over again. 

 

It isn’t any easier the second time around.

 

As he goes back to his shoelaces, finally managing to unknot them from each other, Nick hears Louis’ voice carry back across the locker room, high-pitched and angry.  “You don’t have to talk to him,” he tells Harry and Nick flinches, hoping none of the other players are paying attention.  “You don’t owe him shit…not after how he treated you.”

 

And that’s just…not right.  That’s just not right at _all_ and angry heat sweeps over Nick’s body, because he didn’t do a damn thing.  Not a single damn thing and yet Harry _still_ left without even bothering to explain himself.  If anyone’s in the wrong here, it’s Harry.  Tomlinson can fuck off, honestly.

 

But even as he thinks it, Nick finds that he’s not mad at Harry.  He’s just really, really sad and really, really tired.  He’s way too old for this.

 

It must show on his face, because Olly Murs takes that moment to sidle up next to Nick and clap him hard on the back.  “Alright, mate?” he asks, looking for all the world like a professional footballer.  It makes Nick smile just a little bit.

 

“Just fine,” he lies, getting to his feet and resigning himself to his misery.  Whatever was between him and Harry is clearly gone…it’s time to forget it and move on.  “Let’s go kick some One Direction arse.”

 

Olly laughs brightly, delighted.  “It’d be my pleasure.”

 

_-_-_-_

 

Nick can’t decide if he’s offended or relieved to be benched the moment he steps onto the pitch.  He’s doesn’t harbor any misconceptions about himself – he knows he’s not the greatest football player, so he’s honestly not surprised that they’ve chosen to make him a sub.  It’s a small consolation to note that Harry’s been put on the bench, too, but true to form, he’s not actually sitting.  Even from the other end of the field, Nick can see that he’s jumping around, waving his hands enthusiastically and cheering for his team.  It’d be cute if Nick hadn’t decided ten minutes ago to get over him.

 

That thought in his mind, Nick turns resolutely back to the game and lets out a whoop when Olly takes off down the field, the opposing team racing after him.  By some miracle he manages to boot it straight into the goal, sending the ball flying just out of the goalkeeper’s reach.  Nick jumps to his feet instantly, screaming at the top of his lungs.

 

It’s their first and only goal.  By the time the clock has reached eighty minutes, the opposing team has passed them by four.  One of which, much to Nick’s annoyance, was a penalty shot by none other than Louis Tomlinson.  Fuck him.

 

Sighing good-naturedly, the coach comes to stand in front of Nick, offering him a hand to his feet.  “There’s only ten minutes left…not much we can do at this point,” he says, but he’s clearly not that bothered.  The game is for charity anyway – the money goes to numerous good causes whether they win or not.  “Might as well get on out there, Grimshaw.”

 

“Thanks a lot, coach,” Nick laughs, rolling his eyes.  “That sure makes me feel great.”

 

But all the same, he runs out onto the pitch with a war whoop, waving at the packed stands.  The cheers get louder when the crowd sees him and Nick allows himself the tiniest satisfied smile.  He’s been miserable all day – all month, really – he’s allowed this one thing.

 

The smile drops away when Harry runs out onto the field, his coach clearly having the same idea as Nick’s.  He looks like a baby colt, running as fast as he can with his ridiculous long legs and his braid flying out behind him.  In that moment, Nick misses him _so_ much.  He’s the biggest idiot popstar Nick has ever known, but he’s a damn great one, too.

 

It hits him all at once that he’s not over him.  No matter how hard he’s tried, he’s not over him at all. 

 

Trying to clear his head, Nick races away from Harry and toward his defending position in the right corner.  He gets a few good blocks in – he might be the only person in the history of the world that can say they beat Simon Cowell at something – but ultimately it’s not enough and Harry’s team scores their sixth goal.

 

With only three minutes on the clock, Nick’s goalkeeper gives the football an almighty kick, sending it sailing down the pitch where it smacks Harry square in the face with a sickening _crack_.  There’s a terrible silence for a second or two as everyone in the stadium watches him fall to the ground with a yelp, clutching at his face.  When he pulls his hands away, they’re covered in blood.

 

That snaps Nick out of it and he gasps loudly, abandoning his position in favor of running to Harry’s side, his heart pounding.  There’s _so_ much blood, he’s almost afraid he’ll be sick.  He can’t help the worried _Harry!_ that falls from his mouth when he finally reaches him.

 

Harry latches onto his hands almost immediately, squeezing tight like a little kid.  Nick’s stomach swoops when he sees the way Harry’s eyes have gone wet and unfocused.  “Don’ wanna play an’more,” he slurs, blood dripping into his mouth.  “‘M done.”

 

“Yeah, I’d say you are, love,” Nick agrees softly, looping an arm around Harry’s waist to support him.  One of the doctors from the sidelines leads them off the field and Nick signals to his coach that he’s done, too.  Harry’s clinging to him like a lifeline – there’s no way Nick is leaving him by himself when he’s bleeding profusely out his fucking _face_.

 

Plus he’s, like, in love with him or something.  But that’s beside the point.

 

The blood doesn’t let up the entire walk to the locker room and Nick can feel himself start to panic.  Harry’s swaying on his feet, threatening to topple over every couple steps.  “What’s wrong with him?” Nick asks worriedly, trying his best to hold Harry up.  “Why won’t it stop?”

 

“We’ll check him out,” the doctor says calmly, giving him a shrug.  “Just help him into one of the chairs.” 

 

Nick does as he’s told, being as gentle as possible.  Even so, a few tears skate down Harry’s cheeks, making tracks through the blood that’s starting to dry on his skin.  Nick’s heart hasn’t stop banging in his chest since watching Harry crumple to the ground.  Caring about people, especially Harry, hurts a lot.

 

The doctor shoos Nick away long enough to shine a little light up Harry’s nose and then feel around his face, trying to suss out the problem.  He hums thoughtfully to himself.

 

The entire time, Nick keeps wiping his sweaty palms down his athletic shorts, trying not to keel over with worry.  Finally, when he just can’t take it anymore, he bursts out, “Is it broken?  Is he going to be okay?”

 

“No,” the doctor says simply, handing Harry an icepack.  He holds it gingerly to his nose.

 

Nick’s stomach drops all the way to the floor.  “He’s not going to be okay?” he cries, feeling a bit like his world has just been turned over.  It was bad enough that Harry left him high and dry, but now he might be seriously injured on top of it.  It didn’t seem fair somehow.  “Isn’t there anything you can do?”

 

“No, his nose isn’t broken,” the doctor corrects him, shaking his head.  For the first time, Nick notices the mirth in his eyes.  The guy looks like he’s barely holding back his laughter.  Nick bristles.  “He’s fine, Grimmy.  He’s just a little bruised.” 

 

But Nick has to be certain.  This is _Harry_ and no matter what went down between them, he just needs Harry to be alright.  “Are you sure?”

 

Now the doctor really does laugh, one hand reaching out to squeeze Nick on the shoulder while the other gives Harry a comforting pat on the arm.  “I’m sure…wipe the blood off and he’ll be as good as new.”

 

Having done his job, the doctor heads back to the pitch.

 

The silence that follows is so awkward Nick kind of wants to melt into the floor, but before he can do anything drastic – like tear his hair out or shout _why’d you leave me!_ at the top of his lungs – Harry starts to giggle.  “Well,” he says, removing the icepack and making a face at it.  “That was super embarrassing.”

 

Nick snorts in spite of himself.  “Not nearly as embarrassing as me having a coronary over a bruise,” he says somewhat hysterically, but where the doctor’s laughter felt grating, Harry’s giggles are comforting.  Nick’s heart finally stops trying to tear its way out of his body.  “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

Nick grabs a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall and then douses it in cold water at the sink.  Returning to Harry’s side, Nick pauses for a moment.  “You wanna do it or should I?”

 

“Can you?” Harry asks, looking up at Nick with big, green eyes that make Nick’s heart flip in his chest.

 

“’Course,” he answers a little gruffly, sliding his fingers into Harry’s hair so he can gently tip his head back.  “Just let me know if it hurts.”  Then he sets to wiping the blood away, his hands feeling clumsy and too big as they move against Harry’s face.

 

At a particularly swollen spot, Harry hisses through his teeth and his hands fly up to grab Nick by the hips and it’s like the world stops.  For one desperate second Nick thinks Harry’s going to pull him down into his lap, but then Harry coughs out an awkward “sorry” and lets go again.  It shouldn’t be as disappointing as it is.

 

Instead of answering him, Nick looks at anything but Harry and ventures, “The game’s probably over.  We should go back to the field.”

 

He only makes it two steps before Harry grabs his hand and pulls him back.  “Wait!” Harry cries, then winces at himself.  “Wait…just wait a second.”  For the first time since this morning, Harry’s face looks sad.  That’s what Nick had been waiting for – some proof that Harry wasn’t as fine as he seemed – but it didn’t feel as good as he thought it would.  It’s like looking at a sad little kitten and it makes something clench in Nick’s belly.

 

“What is it, popstar?” he asks, voice quiet.  He curls his hands into fists so he won’t do something stupid like touch Harry’s face or propose marriage.

 

“You still care, don’t you.”  It’s said like a fact, and not for the first time Nick wishes he could mask his emotions better.

 

Nick sighs.  “Yes,” he admits wearily, fighting the urge to hide behind his hands.  At least it’s all out in the open…at least Harry knows and can do with it what he will.  “I’ve always cared, Harry…there was never a time I didn’t care.”

 

Harry’s brow crinkles in confusion.  “Then why’d you let me go?” he asks, staring at Nick quizzically.

 

Nick’s mouth drops open and he can hardly believe his ears.  “Why _did_ you go?” he cries, all gentleness gone from his voice in favor of squawking disbelief.  “If you remember, you’re the one that up and left!”

 

That makes Harry spring to his feet.  “Yeah, but only because I thought you wanted me to!” he says, throwing his hands in the air like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, which is pretty audacious considering.  “We were coming up on tour time and you never _said_ anything, Nick!  I thought you just wanted me to leave.”

 

“You never said anything, either!” Nick points out defensively.  He suddenly finds that his legs are too tired to hold himself up, so he sinks onto one of the benches, his mind whirling as he realizes just how _wrong_ he was.  About Harry and about the entire situation.  He can’t stop himself from practically shouting, “I wanted you to be my boyfriend, stupid!”

 

Harry falls down next to him, laughing helplessly.  “That’s what I wanted, too!”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“Why didn’t _you_ tell me?”

 

Before they can talk themselves in circles again, Nick holds his hand up and says flatly, “Are you actually fucking kidding me.”  This is probably the stupidest thing that’s ever happened in his entire life.  He can’t believe he _cried_ over this.

 

Harry must agree because he nearly puts his head through a locker flinging it back to clunk against the metal.  His eyes are closed, but he peeks one open at Nick long enough to say, “We’re really bad at this.”

 

“No shit.”

 

They sit side-by-side for a minute or two, shocked into silence and trying to take it all in.  It’s tense until Harry scoots closer and nuzzles into Nick’s shoulder, careful not to bump his poor nose.  “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he offers quietly.  “I didn’t mean to.”

 

Finally, Nick’s body relaxes.  “I know you didn’t,” he says and he realizes that it’s true.  Harry isn’t perfect, but he would never, ever try to hurt someone.  “And I’m sorry if I made you sad.”

 

Harry shrugs dismissively, his body warm against Nick’s side.  Nick almost wants to cry at how familiar and _right_ it feels.  “The players are gonna be back any second,” Harry tells him, grabbing for Nick’s hand.  “So if you’re gonna do anything about this, you better do it now.”

 

It’s an order and it startles a laugh out of Nick.  “Why is that my responsibility?” he asks, but this time he’s so happy he can’t keep the smile off his face.  “Why can’t _you_ do something about it?”

 

“You’re older,” Harry says simply, but there’s an evil glint in his eyes.  “You’re supposed to be the mature one.”

 

Shaking his head, Nick finally just dives in headfirst.  “Harry Styles, would you like to move back in?” he asks, not even a hint of nervousness nagging at him.  It’s freeing to be so upfront about it.  He’d like to smack himself in the face for not doing it sooner.  “Someone has to make sure that nose heals up.”

 

Grinning, Harry crosses his eyes to look down at his injured face.  “It’s just bruised,” he reminds him.  “I hardly need a nursemaid.”

 

“Oh, well then I guess you should probably just be my boyfriend instead,” Nick suggests, wiggling his eyebrows up and down.  He knows he looks like an idiot but he finds he doesn’t care at all.  Harry doesn’t either, if the giant open-mouthed cackle he lets out is anything to go by.

 

“Probably!” he agrees happily. 

 

Then, for the first time in two months, he puts his hand to Nick’s cheek and leans in to kiss him, making butterflies flap their little wings in Nick’s belly.  Just as they’re about to make contact, the door flies open and the players rush into the locker room, led by Louis fucking Tomlinson screaming _smashed it!_ at the top of his squeaky little voice.

 

Enraged at how unfair and bloody _typical_ it is, Nick groans and buries his face in Harry’s shoulder.  “I hate him so much!” he cries, fuming.  “I hate absolutely everything about him!”

 

Harry just laughs in delight, patting Nick’s back comfortingly.  Then he pulls away, making Nick come out of hiding.  “Kiss me anyway!” he says, grabbing Nick by the face.  “That’s what boyfriends do!”

 

And Nick’s no good at boyfriends, but he finds it remarkably easy to lean in and just do it, the noise of the locker room fading into the background.  Maybe there’s hope for them yet.


End file.
